Discussion Re: My Cynicism.

Aware of the knowledge, the burden of experience,
I follow you through the open field
Of open-ended metaphors and flower bunches,
Boxes of chocolates,
Materialistic representations of my affection.

However,
In the very same box I keep your tokens,
I keep my cynicism.
The realism that the flowers might wilt,
The field may burn. The fire will spread,
And it will end, and in turn, will us.

But for now I lay in the field,
Watching for signs that the end is near,
Like small arguments. Your parents.
Someone else.

So what am I do?
Where every part of me is shuddering in anxiety,
Awaiting the end,
What if it doesn’t come true?

What if we lay here forever,
…and I’m happy about it?